Real Success
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Another oneshot. Tim's in a real mess and it looks like his number is up. All he has is a mental image of his teammates and what they would do in his place.


**A/N: **This oneshot was originally written in July 2009 as a Hangman prize, I think. It's another Hero!Tim story, slightly more plot than a few of my other old oneshots.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS. I am not making money off these stories, but I do think this one might fit pretty well into an episode if the writers wanted to use it. :)

* * *

**Real Success  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

_You've really screwed up this time, Tim. Things are not looking good._

Tim had to agree with himself. It was bad. Then, he stiffened as he felt the cold muzzle of the gun touch his neck, winding slowly around to his nape. The pressure from the weapon increased, forcing him down onto his knees.

_Oh, very bad._

"Thought it would be a good idea to go sniffing around our place, did ya, fed?"

_Hired muscle. He's strutting and way too confident,_ Tim thought to himself. _The big guys wouldn't strut...not when they know they could be compromised._

The gun nudged him harder.

"I asked you a question!"

Tim forced himself to move back, upright on his knees. He looked straight into the eyes of the man in charge. It was patently obvious who was holding the reins...and he wasn't saying a word, content to allow his lackey the pleasure of softening up the unknown quantity.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Tim said, breaking his silence.

There was a pause, as if the lackey was seeing what his boss would do. Would he get involved?

_Surely not yet,_ Tim thought. _Not until he's a little more worried._

"I don't like the way he's looking at me," the boss said, his voice soft. He was aware, even if the lackey wasn't, just what was going on here. The battle of wills. Who would break first?

The muzzle of the gun disappeared from his neck. Tim realized what was coming just a little too late...and felt the gun hit his cheek. The force was such that he was thrown against the wall and then slumped to the floor. Feeling the probable fracture of his cheekbone, he cradled his face in his hands, breathing too harshly to pretend that he hadn't been hurt by it.

_Gibbs would have just got back up and made a smart comment. So would Tony. Ziva would have killed them all already. Well...not gonna happen for me._

He could get up, though. Carefully, he balanced himself, pressing his hands on the cold concrete floor. With a deep breath, Tim resumed his former position.

"Yes, that's better," the man said.

Tim permitted himself a smirk. It hurt his face to move the muscles, but he'd tolerate it...if it delayed the inevitable. The muzzle was back against his neck. He shivered involuntarily and the man sitting across from him smiled, as if pleased at the physical reaction.

"Was there anyone else around?" he asked, the voice as soft as it had been before.

_He must be really worried...if he's getting involved so soon,_ Tim thought. This wasn't something he had learned in a book. It was impossible to find a book that covered the intricacies of how the bad guys reacted in certain situations. No, this had come from his six years on Gibbs' team (along with Tony's brief tenure as team leader). ...and really, even that arena of learning had just been from picking things up here and there. Gibbs hadn't sat them down and made them take a course in "Bad Guy Reactions 101". Tim smiled at the thought.

"Not that I saw."

"How long were you here?"

The grin became wider, but Tim didn't answer. The boss' eyes became hard although his voice didn't change.

"Wipe that smile off his face."

Foregoing the gun this time, the lackey hauled back and socked Tim in the face. Again, he was thrown against the wall. Again, he slumped to the floor, his head aching, tasting blood in his mouth. Tim lay on the ground for a little while. The cold concrete cooled the fire on his face.

_Gibbs would still get up._

More slowly this time, Tim pushed himself upright once more. The gun jabbed against his neck and he knew his time was limited...and growing moreso by the minute. The irony was that he didn't even know anything for sure. He'd been checking out a tip. Tony and Ziva must be out there somewhere as well...but he didn't know where.

_Why do I always get sent places alone?_

He was only certain of one thing: this man was the one they'd been looking for. He must be the one who had killed Lt. Rowe.

_That means he's probably also the one running drugs through Quantico. Yep. You really got involved in it this time, Tim._

"How long were you here?"

Tim forced himself to smile again. "Long enough."

The muzzle tightened against his neck. Even if, by some miracle, the bullet didn't kill him, it would certainly have paralyzed him. Death would be preferable.

_I don't think they're going to ask for your preferences, Tim._

The lackey leaned forward into his line of sight.

"You still think this was a good idea?"

_Hmmm...what would Gibbs or Tony do in this particular situation? Since I've already established that Ziva would have killed everyone and gotten away, I can disregard her response. I could spit in his face. That would be pretty gross considering the fact that I think my mouth is bleeding. I'm quite certain he wouldn't enjoy it. Still, that really is rather gross. What if he spit back at me? Nah. I'll do something else._

"Definitely," he answered.

"Why is that?"

"Because it gives me a good view...for when you guys go down."

"You won't be having _any_ views. Good or otherwise," the boss said and then nodded his head.

This time, Tim was ready and moved away just as the gun came flying at his head again. It shifted the angle and lessened the impact...although it still sent him reeling...against the wall...down to the floor. Now, the room seemed to be spinning around in circles...and he couldn't quite figure out which way was up and which way was down. He felt a trickle of blood run along his cheek.

"Get him up."

The gun jabbed at him...and a heavy boot in his stomach urged him to kneel again.

_Who am I to resist such a request?_ Tim asked himself, trying to keep himself from feeling too hopeless by making jokes in his head. _It's getting serious now._

"Who knows you're here?"

Tim shoved himself upright for the...was it the third or the fourth time? He couldn't quite remember at this point.

"Maybe everyone. Maybe no one. Maybe a few people. Maybe lots."

The jab in his neck with the gun hurt. It actually rocked his head back a bit.

_Great, in addition to everything else, I'm going to have a bruise in the shape of an O on my neck. Standing for what? O for...oh, great, maybe?_ Tim chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny, fed?"

Tim shrugged but couldn't quite stop his strange thoughts from making him laugh. _Maybe when they find my body, they'll think it means something...like the trident from a few years ago. O for...Octopi? The mad octopus killer!_

Vaguely, he knew that he probably had a concussion at the very least and his twisted mental track was a result of his head trauma, but that didn't particularly matter. It was keeping him from panicking at his impending doom.

"Who knows you're here?" Finally, the boss stood up, frustration leaking into his tone.

"I can think of at least two," Tim said. "Maybe three...if you count me...knowing where I am." _And the other two are you and your lackey..._

The boss pulled out a gun of his own and pointed it at Tim's head, resting the muzzle dead center. Now, concussion or not, Tim was afraid, afraid that this was the real end of it all, that there was no more time to stall and hope that Tony and Ziva would pick up on his absence.

_I'm going to die. Right here. Right now. What would Gibbs do? _Tim wondered, staring up at the man with the gun. _He'd either get away or die. Same with Tony. ...and getting away doesn't seem likely...not for anyone. Not with two guns pointing at me. So...now what? Die bravely? That's the only option left?_ He didn't particularly like that idea.

"You know..." Tim began and was annoyed that he felt himself trembling. "...you two should probably decide which one is going to do the shooting. I don't think my head is thick enough to stop either bullet completely. ...unless that's the point. Kill two birds with one stone? ...one bullet?" He closed his eyes for a moment and then forced himself to open them again. He wasn't going to wimp out this time...but his head was spinning unpleasantly. His face ached and his cheek throbbed. He was actually swaying a little.

_So much for that. I'd like to have done a few more things._

"You going to kill me or what?" he asked, tired of waiting for the inevitable. He stared up at the boss, felt the lackey behind him, felt both guns...one on his forehead, one on his neck...and then, he decided that if he was going to die, it wasn't going to be by waiting patiently for death to be dealt to him by two scumbags like these.

_Would Gibbs do this? Probably not. He'd go out in style. Tony would have something smart to say. Ziva...wouldn't be in this position as I've already established...twice. Maybe this is the kind of thing someone like me has to do. One final desperate attempt to stay alive...even if it's futile._

Tim didn't think, didn't really plan. His mind was on one thing: seeing if survival was actually possible. He couldn't go forward or backward...but he could throw himself to one side. It wouldn't work, but he did it anyway.

...and just as he began to move, there was a sound from behind him. Voices shouting...guns firing. He flung an arm back behind him as he moved through the air, hoping to hit the gun aimed at his neck. He hit the ground, kicking out his legs toward the boss, hoping to trip him up, put off his aim, keep him from doing any actual shooting.

Then, there were more sounds...as his head clunked against the concrete and sent his brain spinning in circles again. He waited for the guns to press against his skin once more, for the bullet to rip through his wandering brain...and he hoped that his spiraling consciousness would fade before that happened.

He got his wish. Reality faded to blackness just as a shadow loomed over him...saying his name.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a jolt and Tim came awake, staring up...at what? It wasn't the sky...but it didn't look like a ceiling either.

"Back with us, are you?"

The voice was unfamiliar...and female. Neither of the men holding him had possessed feminine voices. He blinked and stared. A face hovered...unfamiliar and female.

_I don't appear to be dead._

"He's awake."

"That's good. Maybe they'll not mob us at the hospital."

That voice was also unfamiliar...but male.

"What's–?"

"You got a few good knocks on the head, Agent McGee...but I think you'll be okay."

"Where–?" It seemed incredibly difficult to make a complete sentence.

"Currently, in an ambulance."

Another jolt and Tim became aware of the sound of a siren.

"How–?"

"I can't answer that question. I just cart people around. Couple of good whacks with a gun and at least one with a fist, though, if I'm any judge."

He became aware, as well, of the fact that seeing out his right eye was incredibly difficult.

_I'm in an ambulance. I'm not dead. I don't think so, anyway._

"I'm alive?"

"Yes," she said and smiled at his confusion. "You are most definitely alive, Agent McGee, much to everyone's relief. Just relax and let us do our jobs. You'll be fine."

Tim decided that figuring out the impossibilities could wait. His eyes drifted closed again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, Probie!"

"Let him sleep, Tony!"

"Ow!"

"Stop whining."

"All of you, shut up."

"I must concur."

"Hey, McGee."

Tim opened his eyes to find only one of the mass of people actually looking at him. He smiled, but only one side of his face agreed to move. The other stayed stubbornly where it was.

"Hey."

At his soft reply to Jimmy's greeting, everyone turned, all looking delighted...and all talking at the same time.

"Hey," he said again. They quieted down. "Did you get 'em?"

"Them?" Tony asked.

"The bad guys."

"Oh..._them_."

"Yes, we got them, McGee...although we were almost too late," Ziva said. "You should not wander off."

"I didn't," Tim said, affronted and coming more awake. "I went where I was told. Just because you two were busy bickering."

Before a real argument could get going, Gibbs glared at Tony and Ziva...and then, at Tim.

"Did I screw up, Boss?"

"Why would you think you had?"

"Well...I did almost get killed."

"Almost being the operative word, Timothy," Ducky said with a smile.

"I tried to figure out how to get away...but I didn't make it very far."

Suddenly serious, Tony leaned over. "You got far enough, McGee. ...if we had been a little slower..."

"What were you trying to do?" Ziva asked, watching with amusement as Abby wrapped her arms around Tim, forcing him to sit up.

"An exercise in futility," Tim admitted. "Abby, I'm fine."

"You're fine? Tim, have you _seen_ yourself?" Abby asked indignantly.

"Not recently. Bad, huh?"

"You're not going to win any beauty prizes, Probie...not that you would have won any before... Ow!" He broke off suddenly as Ziva elbowed him in the gut.

"An exercise in futility? What do you mean?"

"Well, I went through what I thought you guys would have done...and...decided that I couldn't. So...I had to do my own thing. It was an exercise in futility."

"Didn't look futile to me," Tony said.

"How bad am I?" Tim asked.

"No major fractures in your face...luckily," Jimmy volunteered. "You're...swollen...a bit."

"He means you look like a lumpy melon," Tony added helpfully.

"But after a few days, you'll be fine."

"And swollen," Tony said.

"Like a lumpy melon?" Tim asked.

"Yes."

"Great. Lucky me."

"Could have been worse," Abby said.

Tim nodded seriously. "I meant it. I feel lucky."

The doctor came in then, looked at the number of people in the room, shooed them all out and began checking Tim over.

"You're a lucky man, Agent McGee."

"I know."

"We've put in a few stitches on your cheek, on your jaw and on your temple, but, barring any swelling later, it looks as though you'll make a full recovery."

"I thought I already _was_ swollen."

The doctor chuckled. "You are. Definitely, but I meant your brain, not your face."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Maybe not. We're going to keep you here for a couple of days to make sure there's no..._internal_ swelling. If everything looks good, you'll be free to go."

"How long will I be...externally swollen?" Tim asked, giving the half smile which was all he could manage.

"A couple of weeks."

"A lumpy melon?"

"More or less."

"Great."

"Everything looks...good from a medical standpoint."

Tim laughed. "Do you have a mirror or something? I'd like to know what is making everyone hesitate over possible references to my appearance."

"I'll scrounge one up for you. Now, the best thing for you to do is get some rest." The doctor patted him paternally on the shoulder and left.

Tim shifted around on his back and decided that, strangely enough, he didn't feel very tired. Still, doctor's orders and all. He closed his eyes and tried to think tired, sleepy thoughts.

"McGee."

Tim opened his eyes.

"Hey, Boss."

"Heard you wanted to take a gander at yourself." Gibbs held out a small hand mirror.

"You carry one of those around with you, Boss?" Tim asked. Gibbs raised an eyebrow and Tim looked down, taking the mirror and examining himself. "Tony's right. I _do_ look like a lumpy melon."

It was quite the sight to see. The whole right side of his face was swollen, keeping his right eye half closed. The sutures showed up beautifully in the midst of the purples and reds and blues of the large bruises.

"Wow."

"Impressed, McGee?"

"Yeah. I mean I knew it hurt. I figured...well, that he'd broken my cheekbone when he hit me...but this is...wow."

Gibbs sat down. "Done looking?"

Tim stared in a kind of morbid fascination. "I guess so."

Gibbs chuckled and took the mirror. "You said that you thought about what we'd do...and decided that you couldn't do it. What did you mean?"

Tim looked up. "Just what I said."

"Specifically."

Tim flushed. "Nothing important, Boss."

"Don't start backing off now."

"I figured that...that Ziva would have killed both of them and gotten away. You and Tony would either have figured out how to get away or else you would have come up with smart things to say to them. When I figured they were going to kill me, I knew that you'd go out in style...unafraid. Tony...he'd be afraid, but he'd make it sound like he wasn't by making all sorts of smart aleck comments. I couldn't do either of those. I was shaking. I was afraid. I didn't want to die...and I couldn't just sit there and let it happen." Tim shrugged. "So...I figured that if they were going to kill me...and I knew they were...I figured that I'd...just...try one more time to get away. It wasn't being brave. It wasn't anything really...just like I said...a last futile attempt."

"I'm impressed, McGee."

Tim furrowed his brow and then winced as that pulled at his bruised face. "Why? I didn't think it would work. If Tony and Ziva hadn't been there...it wouldn't have. They would have killed me anyway."

"Because you kept trying, McGee. That's important...and it's impressive. You're probably right. I probably would have gone out without showing any fear. I would have let them pull the trigger. Why do you think that makes me any better than you..._trying_ to stay alive? Worst comes to worst, we both end up dead. ...but you would have died fighting...and I would have died passively."

Tim started to say something, but he couldn't find the words. So...he sat there with his mouth working and no sounds coming out.

"You did good, McGee. You stalled them long enough. You fought to stay alive...and you made it. That's a good job."

"But I didn't think I'd _do_ all that, Boss."

"Are you disappointed?" Gibbs asked.

"Well...no...of course not...but..."

Gibbs leaned forward. "McGee, you took three hits to the head. Obviously, you're not thinking clearly. Listen: you're alive. We caught the guys running the drugs. No one else died. At the end of the day, that's the best we can ever ask for...and I'm not going to regret that...not one bit."

"I'm not either, Boss."

"Good. Get some sleep. Get rid of the melon...and I'll see you later."

Gibbs walked out, leaving Tim alone.

_I did good._

The thought was a nice one.

_I did good. Gibbs thinks I did good._

Tim smiled.

He drifted off to sleep, still smiling...because he knew Gibbs was right.

They had the best outcome they could have wanted.

...now, if he could just think of a good comeback for the lumpy melon comment...

FINIS!


End file.
